We stood atop Battery C on a cold, gray afternoon last week. This hill on Crowley's Ridge was part of the Civil War Battle of Helena on July 4, 1863. The battle was a futile attempt by the Confederacy to recapture Helena, a key port city on the Mississippi River.
I listened as two of the state's top Civil War historians, Mark Christ and Tom DeBlack, discussed the battle. Battery C has been transformed into a park with several interpretive panels. With the leaves off the trees, there's a nice view of historic Helena, the river and the Mississippi farmlands on the other side of the river. Then my mind wandered to the Helena oyster loaf.
I grew up reading Richard Allin's columns in the Arkansas Gazette, and each December he would note that the oyster loaf was a cherished tradition in his home. Allin, who died in October 2007, was born into a prominent Helena family in October 1930. He graduated from the University of the South at Sewanee, Tenn., in 1952. After serving almost four years in the U.S. Navy, Allin worked as a roving reporter for The Commercial Appeal at Memphis. Following three years with the Memphis newspaper, Allin joined the Gazette. He wrote the "Our Town" column for the Gazette and the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette for the next three decades.
Richard Allin wrote lovingly of the Christmas traditions in Helena. "Until I graduated from college and went to the Navy, I had the identical Christmas menu for some 23 unbroken years," he said. "Strange how one year's innovation becomes a pleasant custom in five years and an iron-bound tradition ordered by heaven in a half century. ... If Christmas eve supper fails to include oyster loaf and dinner on Christmas Day is not ended with ambrosia and fruitcake soaked in bourbon whiskey, then it's time to look out for the condition of your soil. Our Christmas tree always went in the southwest corner of the living room, out of the way of the coal-burning fireplace, and blocking off a bookcase. That was no problem. Reading was suspended during Christmas."
As is the case at our house, pecans were a major part of the Christmas season. Allin said that a certain percentage of the shelled pecans were "kept for ourselves, ended up in a fruitcake, parched with butter and salt, or in a storage tin. A second batch of shelled pecans was placed in a box around a fruitcake being shipped to a Yankee relation. And the remainder would be mailed off to cousins, Yankee and Canadian, who never got to see a pecan unless they were shipped up at Christmas from Helena. Pecans were so much a part of Christmas at home that if you had a choice between them or a Christmas tree, the Christmas tree would probably have to go."
The oyster loaf consisted of a hollowed-out loaf of bread filled with fried oysters, olives, ketchup and pickles. Allin wrote: "Christmas eve. Oysters are in the house. So are the unsliced pullman loaf, olives, lemons and tomato ketchup. As yet no mustard pickle has been found, and mustard pickle is an absolute necessity for Christmas eve supper. It used to be commonly available back when people had a taste for more pungent foods. ... This is a Christmas eve dish. If you eat it at any other time, you do so at your own risk." Allin said the tradition of the oyster loaf was brought up the river from New Orleans, where it was known as the "mediatrice" because it was brought home by husbands hoping to make peace with angry wives. The olives, lemon wedges, ketchup and pickles were added in later years to create the Helena version.
Just as in our family, breakfast during the Christmas season must include grapefruit halves. Marcie Ferris writes in The Edible South that there are "fresh grapefruits cut and ready for each of us at our places at the table, designated by napkin rings personalized with our names. These rituals reinforce our Southern family."
My late father was an avid quail hunter, and the sure sign that Christmas was approaching was when we would end a hunt early in order to cut down the cedar that would serve as our Christmas tree, cut some wild holly branches to be placed on the fireplace mantel, gather some large pine cones and shoot down some mistletoe with our shotguns. Because we were a family of outdoorsmen, supper on Christmas eve often featured wild duck and cornbread dressing while breakfast on Christmas morning featured fried quail, biscuits and gravy. Then it was off to my paternal grandparents' home in Benton for chicken and dressing and on to my maternal grandparents' home in Des Arc, where we would eat well for several more days. All four of my grandparents lived into their 90s, so I was blessed with two sets of active grandparents from birth until college.
Our two sons, raised in Little Rock, are more urbanized. Neither hunt or fish. But, long after I'm gone, I hope they'll also look back fondly on family traditions during the holidays--the grapefruits from Florida; the country ham from Virginia; the wild salmon from the Pacific Northwest; the fruitcake from Corsicana, Texas; our annual family contest to see who can pick the most winners of college bowl games; the dozens of Christmas cards that must be signed by each member of the family; the Terry Rose CD playing; the eggnog in the refrigerator; the giant salted pecan halves on the counter; the oyster dressing made by my mother-in-law.
As much as anything, this time of year is about the memories you make. Merry Christmas, Arkansas.
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Freelance columnist Rex Nelson is the president of Arkansas' Independent Colleges and Universities. He's also the author of the Southern Fried blog at rexnelsonsouthernfried.com.
Editorial on 12/24/2014